Lesions and Lies
by FirstFandomFangirl
Summary: One Friday night, while meeting at the pub for drinks, Phineas realizes that Phillip is hiding something from him. Bromance, not a ship fic, if you're looking for a ship fic go somewhere else. Rated T for safety.
1. Part 1

**not a ship fic xoxo**

 **if I mixed the daughters up im sorry I can not tell them apart**

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Phineas T. Barnum had never been much for hiding things, or secrets in general. This was probably a major reason for his pioneering a form of entertainment based on bringing the unique into the spotlight. He was, despite society's tendency to label him as a 'humbug' and a 'fraud', a painfully honest man.

That's why he didn't understand why Phillip hid it from him.

After leaving the circus, Phineas had opened a small investment firm for those whom no one else would loan money. A rather risky business endeavor, but his cut of the circus' earnings kept him and his family fed and clothed (and then some) whether the loans were paid back or not.

This job, along with his daughters' various engagements as Caroline grew into a lovely young ballerina and her sister began to follow in her footsteps, took up a good amount of the former ringmaster's time, and left him unable to visit his friends at the circus as often as he would like. However, no matter what came up, Phineas always made time to meet Phillip for drinks Friday nights.

They would talk, and laugh, and drink a bit, discuss the circus, their respective women, the circus' future, their future... their conversations steadily got deeper the later it got. They were usually the last customers in the building, parting ways and heading home a few minutes before closing.

One week, something felt off.

The first clue was that Phillip was late. He was _never_ late, a habit likely hammered into him at some point during his aristocratic upbringing. Yet, this week, he was. Almost fifteen minutes late, in fact. Phineas was just about to go and search for him when his friend appeared at the pub's door, letting himself in and hurrying to join him at the bar.

"Missed your train?" Phineas quipped as his partner sat down next to him on the bar stool, knowing full well that he walked to and from the pub. Instead of laughing or jabbing him back, however, Phillip only gave him a tight smile.

"There was a mob blocking the street- protesting something other than the circus, for once. That's why I was late."

"Oh? That's a change. What were they protesting?" Phillip shifted in his seat, and Phineas frowned upon noticing a dark bruise on his neck.

"I'm not sure. A strike, maybe, I was too concerned with getting here on time to notice." His partner replied at last.

"Hmm." Phineas took a sip of his drink, watching as Phillip ordered his own. Something was wrong. The lateness, Phillip's refusing to meet his gaze, the bruise... he was hiding something from him.

"How have you been feeling, Phillip?" He asked, getting straight to the point. "You don't seem yourself tonight."

"I'm fine." The younger man gave him another forced smile. "I suppose I'm just preoccupied."

"With what?" Phineas set his drink on the bar, watching him intently for any sign that he might be lying to him.

"Well, I can't say I'm quite used to running this show of yours yet. I do have, as you once said, a flair for show business, but unfortunately no head for numbers." He smiled - a small smile, but a real smile. Whatever bothered him was unrelated to the circus.

"Well, that's what you have O'Malley for. That chap is useful for all kinds of things." Phineas grinned, taking another sip of his drink.

"Believe me, I've noticed." Phillip followed suit, having received his own drink.

"How are you and Anne doing?" The former ringmaster changed the subject to another possible point of conflict.

"Oh, wonderfully!" Phillip's face lit up. "We've only gotten closer since you left. No offense." he added. "I just wish WD didn't feel the need to chaperone us constantly. We can never get a moment alone."

"I doubt that stops you from being affectionate. I saw you kiss her in front of a full crowd." Phillip shook his head.

"Yes, because WD won't attack me in the middle of a show." Phineas rubbed his chin.

"You may have a point." It wasn't Anne, either. "Speaking of Anne, have you been trying to pick up trapeze as well?" Phillip gave him a strange look.

"No. Why?"

"Where'd you get this, then?" The older man reached out to touch the bruise on his neck, and Phillip, unexpectedly, jerked away.

"The- this?" He covered the bruise with his hand. "Oh, no, I wasn't looking where I was going and I ran into a prop. That's all it was." That sounded like an excuse.

"Are you sure that's all? It looks like a very bad bruise for having just bumped into something."

"I was running." Phillip lied again. "I looked away for a second and ran into it. I'm fine."

"Are you-"

"It's _fine_ , P.T." Phillip's voice had a warning edge to it, and Phineas put up his hands in surrender.

"Alright, if you're sure."

"I am." Phillip took a long drink, and when he set his glass down he looked less hostile. "How are Charity and the girls doing?"

"Oh, good, good." Phineas nodded absently, trying to think of any other situations in which he could have gotten that bruise.

" _Now_ who's preoccupied?" Phillip grinned, punching him lightly in the shoulder, and Phineas rolled his eyes.

"I was just wondering when you were going to notice that your shoe is untied." Phillip blinked and looked down, and Phineas reached over to punch him back. "Got-" he started, but stopped short when his fist made contact with his friend's shoulder and the younger man let out a shout of pain, his head jerking back up as he shied away. The two stared at each other for a few moments, Phineas' shocked eyes burning into Phillip's frightened ones.

"Phillip, what happened to your shoulder?" The older man asked in a low voice.

"Nothing ha-"

"Don't lie to me." Phineas stood, taking Phillip by the arm and pulling him to his feet. The startled ringmaster could only follow dumbly as the older man pulled him towards a vacant table in the corner, glad the pub was basically empty. Pushing him down in a chair, Phineas sat down across from him and started to unbutton his jacket.

"Hey!" Phillip exclaimed, shoving his hands away. "What are you doing?"

"Let me see your shoulder." Phineas ordered.

"There's nothing to see!"

"Let me see it, Phillip." The younger man relented, staring at the table as Phineas eased the sleeve of his jacket off his shoulder. White bandages were wrapped around his upper arm, stained red in the middle with blood. "Phillip, this is _not_ nothing." Phillip didn't answer, nor did he meet his eyes. "Phillip, what _happened_ to you?" Still no answer. "Phillip, if you won't tell me then I'll ask everyone at the circus until I find out where this came from."

"They don't know." He said quietly. "No one knows."

"Then what- then how did this happen? Who did this to you?"

"I don't- I don't know! I got hit, and I didn't see-"

"What?"

"I was attacked, okay?" Phillip yanked his arm out of Phineas' grip. "Last week, on my way back from... here. I was halfway drunk, and I cut through an alley to try to get home faster, and... someone hit me over the head. A couple men, I think. One of them threatened me with a knife, but I was too drunk and I tried to fight back, so... he stabbed me." He pressed his hand over his bandaged shoulder, and Phineas cringed. "They took my money and my watch, and left me there. I went to a physician and he stitched and bandaged the wound for me. He said it'll heal completely within a few weeks, so... I just went home and went to bed." Phillip still didn't look at him. "That's all there is to tell." Phineas stared at him for a few minutes, processing this.

"Phillip, why didn't you just _tell_ me?" He asked at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why hide it? Why lie?"

"I didn't want you mocking me, or-"

"Mock you?"

"For letting myself be caught off guard, or making such a big deal about it, or-"

"'A big deal'? You refused to tell _anyone!_ "

"-or for being scared!" Phillip continued, staring at the table. "I almost didn't come tonight, because I was afraid of being attacked again. Afraid of being stupid and getting drunk and trying to take a shortcut and getting robbed. That's why I was late." his voice lowered to a mumble. That's why I didn't tell you, or Anne, or Lettie, or Tom, or anyone. I couldn't let them know how scared I was." He still didn't look up from the table, and Phineas shook his head.

"Phillip, look at me." He glanced up at him, but didn't lift his head. "Phillip, how on earth do you think I could justify mocking you for being afraid?"

"I don't- I don't know. I'm being paranoid, and-"

"'Paranoid'? Phillip, you were _stabbed!_ It's only paranoia if it's not a valid worry to have, and believe me, being afraid after being violently attacked is a perfectly valid worry!"

"But I-"

"Phillip." The older man took his face between his hands, forcing him to look at him. "It wasn't your fault that you were attacked, and it's okay to be scared. I'm not going to mock you, or judge you, and none of the others would either, but if you don't want them to know then I won't tell. But Phillip, remember this: You're my friend, one of my _closest_ friends, and I love you like a brother. Please don't be afraid to talk to me if something's wrong." Phillip finally met his eyes, his face unreadable as their held each others' gaze. Finally, Phillip leaned forward and threw his arms around Phineas' neck, burying his face in his shoulder as his mentor hugged him back.

"Thanks, P.T." He mumbled into his shoulder. Phineas gave him a squeeze, careful to avoid hurting his injured shoulder.

"No problem." They sat in silence for a few moments before Phillip pulled away, glancing at the windows.

"It's getting dark." he sounded dismayed.

"I suppose you don't want to walk home in the dark again?" Phineas guessed, and Phillip nodded.

"I'd better get going..."

"I'll walk you home." Phineas stood up, walking over to the bar to retrieve his hat and scarf as Phillip stared after him.

"What?" The dumbfounded ringmaster managed as Phineas crossed the room back towards him. "P.T., there's no need for that-"

"Nonsense." The older man leaned down to help him ease his arm back into his jacket sleeve. "You're injured, now you're an even easier target. Someone's got to watch your back."

"But-"

"On your feet, Phillip, it's getting late." Phillip sighed, hauling himself to his feet.

"I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

"No you are not." Not only did Phineas walk him home that night, but he did the next week as well, and the week after that. In fact, he never stopped.

By the fifth week, Phillip had stopped complaining.


	2. Part 2

**So I started writing this about... a week ago, but I ended up REALLY, REALLY disliking parts of it and basically stalling for like 5 days while I glared at it. So... don't get your hopes too high for this.**

 **Disclaimer: I am not well-informed in the following subjects: Popcorn, history, anything medical related, certain terms? wedding customs in this time, or even what time period it takes place in because I'm too lazy to type into a google search bar. If anything in this story is historically inaccurate, please forgive me.**

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"I cannot _believe_ you would make such a change without talking to me first." P.T. Barnum fumed. "I built this show with my own two hands, and I gave ownership over to you because I _trusted you_. Is _this_ how you reward that trust?!"

"P.T., I should think _you_ of all people would be the _least_ likely one to stand in the way of progress." Phillip Carlyle scoffed. "The audiences like it. _Anne_ likes it."

"Anne? _Anne?!_ You run your new ideas past your _woman_ , but not _me?!_ " P.T. pressed a hand to his chest, looking hurt. "I'm wounded, Phillip. You were like a son to me."

"Maybe you should just try it, old man." Phillip teased, offering him a paper cup full of popcorn. P.T. crossed his arms.

"No. Peanuts are what I raised my audiences on, and by my wife I'm not going to stop now."

"Oh, come on, P.T., whatever happened to 'the new and unusual'?" The younger man elbowed him lightly. "Besides, with demand for peanuts going up, buying popcorn instead is a much better investment. And… at this point, I'm sick of peanuts." Barnum laughed, clapping him on the back.

"Alright, that I can understand." It had been two months now since Phillip was attacked on his way home, and Phineas walking him home every week had steadily become less for Phillip's protection and more an extension of their time together. They were in no hurry to get home, and were slowly growing out of their habit of sticking to the more lit and populated streets. They were confident in their ability to fight in the event that they were attacked, or at least look intimidating enough that the criminal element of the city would leave them alone.

As summer turned into fall, the days had gotten longer and longer, enough that their walks home now took place exclusively after dark. Most days there would still be quite a few people milling about, but tonight it was very quiet as the pair walked down a silent street lit by a few lanterns.

"Still, you should at least try it." Phillip nudged him with the cup. "We put melted butter and salt on it. It's delicious."

"No thank you." Phineas nudged the cup back at him. "I, for one, will remain loyal to my peanuts."

"I hope you realize we do still offer peanuts, we just offer popcorn now as well. It's been a hit."

"With the critics?"

"Who cares what they think?" Phillip rolled his eyes. "But, as of yet, I have seen no mention of it in the papers. Perhaps they fear drawing attention to it will only make the crowds bigger."

"To be fair, that's what's happened so far."

"Exactly. Perhaps they've finally learned their-" Phillip thought he finished his sentence, but he could never be sure, as the sound of shattering glass drowned out the world around him and pain exploded in his head.

The next thing he knew Phineas was shouting his name, and he was lying on the ground – since when was he down here? -, his head pounding. Pushing himself up on his hands, he looked up to see four men standing around them, one of whom holding the jagged remains of a beer bottle. _That's_ what had hit him. P.T. was kneeling next to him on the ground, a hand on his shoulder, as he glared up at the men surrounding them.

"We don't want any trouble." He said quietly.

"Then hand over yer cash." The thug with the bottle growled back.

"And valuables." A second thug added. Wordlessly, P.T. began to fish in his pockets for his wallet, mouthing _are you okay?_ as he did so. Biting his lip, Phillip nodded, pressing a hand to his throbbing head.

"Yer watches, too!" One of them men snapped as P.T. offered them a wad of bills. Phillip winced. He liked his watch. But then, he really didn't have a choice. They were outnumbered two to one, and their opponents had the upper hand. Painstakingly pushing himself upright, Phillip reached into his jacket and began to undo the clasp holding the chain of his watch to the fabric.

"He said hand it over!" The first thug snapped, bracing his boot on Phillip's shoulder and shoving him backwards.

"I'm _trying."_ Phillip bit back, shaking fingers fumbling with the small clasp. Slowly, P.T. reached over and helped him unfasten it before handing it over to their attackers. When he lowered his hand back to Phillip's shoulder, the thug's eyes followed.

"Yer ring." He ordered. "Hand it over."

"What? No." Phineas narrowed his eyes. "This is my wedding ring. I'll keep it, thank you."

"We'll take it, one way or another." The man threatened him. "Best for th' both of you if ye just give it up."

"You will not be taking my wedding ring." P.T.'s voice was clipped and dangerous, and he stood up, causing the thieves to lift their fists and weapons, respectively, in a threatening manner. A spike of panic going through him, Phillip grabbed Phineas' leg, shaking his head. They couldn't win this. Even if Phillip wasn't already hurt, they would have little chance of overpowering these stronger, and, in some cases, armed men. P.T. glanced down at him, but his face only hardened as he turned back to the man, clutching the cane in his hand tighter.

"Ye can't beat us, old man." The third man slurred. Undoubtedly the reason the beer bottle was empty. "What'chu plan to do, hit me with yer cane?" He let out a bark of mocking laughter, which was immediately silenced by the solid-iron handle of P.T.'s cane slamming into his face.

As Phillip watched, his mouth falling open in shock, Phineas spun around with practiced ease, handling his cane like a club as he slammed it into a second man's head. The remaining two thugs, having apparently just realized that their prey was fighting back, let out a battle cry and moved to attack them, but Phineas dodged their blows and took them down as well. Phillip just stared. Clearly this wasn't his mentor's first time fighting from a position of weakness.

Unfortunately, none of the men, though felled for the time being, were out of the fight. Growling and muttering, the men began to pick themselves up, and P.T. hurriedly grabbed Phillip's arm, hauling him to his feet.

"Can you walk?" He hissed. Phillip nodded. Probably. "Then let's go." As they started down the street again, one of the men lunged after them, grabbing Phillip's arm and yanking him back.

"Yer not getting away." He snapped as Phineas spun to face him, a murderous look on his face. "We don't wanna have to hurt ye, give up yer ring and we'll let you go." Phillip could only stare, his head still spinning from the blow. He really should do _something_ to help, but instead of recovering he only felt worse and worse.

"How about you leave now, and I won't have to cave in your skulls?" P.T. snapped back. "You're nothing but a bunch of drunks. "Go home and rethink your life decisions." The man swung the broken bottle in his hand at Phillip's face. Gasping, the young man managed to jerk back enough to avoid a second blow to the head, but a jagged edge of the broken glass caught his face, slicing open a cut across his cheek.

Immediately, Phineas yanked him back, pushing him behind him, but it did neither of them any good as two more of the men tackled Phineas to the ground, one of them pinning him down as the other tried to snatch the ring off his finger. The pain snapping him out of his frightened daze, Phillip kicked one of the men in the head, making him yell and focus on him instead. This gave P.T. an opening to punch the man on top of him in the face.

The man with the bottle took another swing at Phillip, but he stumbled and missed, and the ringmaster tripped him, sending him sprawling to the ground. P.T. got another good hit on his attacker before managing to slip free, scrambling to his feet and grabbing Phillip by the wrist.

" _Run._ " He snapped, and Phillip obeyed, following along behind him as Phineas lead him down an alley. He heard the men shouting after them, but they had gotten enough of a head start that they soon lost the would-be robbers in the maze of streets.

P.T. didn't stop dragging him along for a long time, until long after the men's shouts had faded into nothing. Finally, he stopped in a dark, cluttered alley, sinking down behind a stack of crates and pulling Phillip down with him.

"Let me see your face." He fussed, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to the cut on Phillip's cheek. "How's your head? You took a pretty nasty blow."

"I'm fine." The younger man replied automatically, finding it hard to think through the pounding in his head.

"Phillip, come on, talk to me." P.T. took his face between his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes, then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Phillip. My ring is just a piece of metal, it wasn't worth getting you hurt."

"What? No." Phillip blinked, shaking his head. "That's your _wedding ring._ That's _special._ What would Charity think if you lost that? And this is just a scratch."

"No, Charity would understand if I lost the ring, but she would kill me if you had gotten hurt any worse than this for letting it happen." Taking Phillip's hand and pressing it over the handkerchief, P.T. stood up. "I'm going to go try to find out where we are. "Don't leave this spot, understand?" The younger man nodded, and he walked off. Phillip closed his eyes, leaning back against the concrete wall. If he was looking forward to a good night's sleep before the attack, he was _definitely_ looking forward to it now. He was exhausted. But, his head hurt too much, and he was far too uneasy to try and sleep in this alley, alone. He just wanted to get home.

"Phillip." He jumped at P.T.'s voice – he hadn't heard him coming. "We're close to the circus, and that's the safest place nearby. There'll probably still be someone there, right?" Reflexively, Phillip reached for his watch, then remembered what had happened to it and sighed.

"Probably." He confirmed. "Though I'm not sure how late it is. Will we spend the night there?"

"If we must. It depends on how badly you are hurt."

"How badly…? I feel fine."

"Still, I know a couple of the performers have medical experience, if they're there then we can have them examine you."

"Very well." Phillip started to try to get to his feet, P.T. assisting him when he stumbled. "To the circus, then?"

"To the circus."

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 **It looks like this will end up getting just one more chapter before I run out of plot again.**

 **~FFF**


	3. Part 3

***checks watch* this isn't THAT late**

 **Review replies:**

 **WeAllLoveHiccup: I'm glad you enjoy it! Also, re: your username, yes that's a mood.**

 **Candaru: I remember thinking "I want them to fight but P.T.'s not gonna risk Phillip, and the thieves aren't just gonna start beating on him, what would he fight for- oh that's an idea"**

 **Punzie: Thank you! I'm glad you like it!**

 **Broppy's little girl: This isn't... the latest I've ever posted... does this count? xD**

 **Kashai: That is an amazing image thank you**

 **Red-Wayne-Hood: Thank you so much!  
**

 **Disclaimer: Don't take anything medical-related I say seriously. I am not a doctor and I don't know what I'm talking about.**

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Phillip, having hoped to keep his injuries at least slightly discreet, could not have picked a worse night to be attacked, as nearly the entirety of the circus' cast was in the tent when they arrived.

Phillip didn't know exactly what the purpose of the gathering was, but when he and P.T. pushed their way through the flap, they found themselves the center of attention, any conversation coming to a halt at their unexpected arrival. Nearly all of the performers were sitting in the bleachers, most with drinks in hand, to the right of the entrance. A few of them were out in the ring, and Phillip soon spotted Anne, sitting on her trapeze with the comfort that most would only find on solid ground.

"Barnum, Phillip!" Lettie called to them in greeting. "What are you doing out so late?"

"What are _you_ all doing here so late?" Phillip called back. Apparently she hadn't noticed the cut, or that Phineas was… halfway holding him up.

"You and Barnum have your nights out, we have ours." Anne called cheerfully, descending from her perch via a rope that dangled beside it. "We started staying late every Friday, and now it's tradition. What brings you two here?" The two men exchanged glances as she started to approach, wondering how to best break the news to them that they had been attacked, but P.T. had only just opened his mouth to try when the trapeze artist frowned and increased her pace. "Phillip, is that _blood?_ What happened to you?"

"It's…" He started, but trailed off, head still hurting too much for him to think of a way to break it to her gently. P.T. came to his rescue, starting to lead him towards the bleachers as he explained.

"We were attacked. Robbed. They took our money and watches, and tried to take my wedding band, but we got away. I fought them, but somehow Phillip managed to take the brunt of the damage." Anxious murmurs circulated amongst the performers as P.T. lowered the younger man into a seat. "We didn't have the money to hire a carriage, and Phillip likely couldn't make the walk home, so we came here since it was much closer." Anne hurried after them as Phillip leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and silently cursing his headache.

"It's not that bad." He tried to reassure Anne as he heard her getting close. "'s just a scratch."

"Yes, probably the worst injury was the blow to his head." Phineas added helpfully.

"It wasn't that bad." Phillip said again, but his mentor only followed up with,

"Really? I should think that it would have taken considerable force for the bottle to shatter when it hit you." Anne sucked in a breath, and Phillip opened his eyes to shoot the older man a dirty look. Phineas only shrugged.

"Sue, run and get the medical kit, please." Anne instructed, apparently not noticing their brief exchange. "Tch, you're all dirty." He glanced down to see that, no, his jacket had not been appreciative of its multiple acquisitions with the street.

"Let me get that off you." She started to unbutton his jacket, and he didn't protest until he remembered the… rather prominent scar from the stab wound he had suffered two months ago. Anne would ask questions, and this episode was enough to worry her about for one night.

"I-I'd rather keep it on." He stammered, sitting up straight and pushing her hands away. "It's… it's a chilly night." He gave a weak explanation as she gave him a quizzical look. It was true. The days were getting colder and colder, and the nights even more so.

"Oh, of course. Let me get you a blanket." Anne hurried off again as Sue, one of the dancers, returned with the bag of medical supplies. As Anne had left the immediate area, Lettie took over her ministrations, taking a cloth from the bag and starting to clean the cut on his face.

"Barnum, are you injured?" She called, not looking up from her work.

"No. I was tackled to the ground, but that's the worst that had happened to me. Poor Phillip got hit hard before we'd realized what was happening."

"Yeah, well, you should see the other guys." Phillip grinned, then winced as the cut on his cheek stung. "P.T.'s cane packs a punch." Phineas grinned back at him, twirling the heavy cane.

"Well, why do you think I carry this? Because I'm a frail old man? Of course not. It makes a wonderful weapon in a pinch."

"As I have just had demonstrated to me, yes." Phillip smiled, closing his eyes again as Lettie used a sticky tape to fasten a pad of bandages over the cut. "Thank you, Lettie."

"Of course." She said gruffly. "If I was there, they wouldn't have gotten off nearly so easy." She muttered vengefully. " _No one_ does this to _my_ Phillip." The ringmaster chuckled, his head starting to droop to the side. He was tired.

"Still, I'm glad Barnum was there. You could have been hurt far worse." Anne's brother, W.D., spoke up.

"Of course, that's why I was there." P.T. replied absently, lowering his cane back to his side. "If it had been just you, they wouldn't have asked so nicely. Likely they would have just beaten and robbed you, and left you there, like the first time." Phillip stiffened as Lettie's hands froze on the bandage. Phineas, no.

"'The first time'?" Anne's voice broke the silence, and Phillip opened his eyes, craning his neck to see the trapeze artist standing behind him with a blanket draped over her arm. "Phillip, what is he talking about?"

"Nothing." Phillip shot a glare at the older man, silently begging him to _don't tell them don't tell them I've had a bad enough night without you making me into a laughingstock._ Phineas met his eyes, then squared his shoulders and said,

"Phillip was beaten and robbed, about two months ago now. He was stabbed in the shoulder. I noticed something wrong, and grilled him until he admitted to it, and I've walked him home each night ever since." Phillip could feel heat creeping up his neck as all eyes turned back to him. Phineas- Phineas had just told _everyone_ that not only had he been attacked, and had lost and was injured, but that he had tried, and failed, to hide it, and was so terrified by what happened to him that he needed someone to _walk him home_ at night. No one spoke for a few moments, tense silence filling the air, before Lettie broke it.

"Phillip, why not just _tell us?_ "

"I didn't want to worry you." He muttered, his eyes lowering to the ground as the inevitable protests filled the air.

"We can only blame ourselves for not noticing." Anne started, coming up behind him and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. "But what if Barnum hadn't noticed? You could have been seriously hurt tonight!"

"I wasn't seriously hurt the first time, there's no-"

"You were stabbed." P.T. interjected. "That qualifies as 'serious', I should think."

"P.T., just shut up!" Phillip snapped, rising to his feet even as the world spun dizzyingly around him. "You're just making this worse!" Whirling around, he stalked off, past Lettie and Anne, towards one of the side tents. As he walked down the aisle, painfully aware of the others' eyes on him, the world took an alarming serve to the right and he found himself on the ground, dangerously close to having slammed his head into one of the support poles. Clutching the pole with both hands, he tried to get back to his feet, but a pair of hands on his shoulders pushed him down.

" _Sit._ " W.D.'s firm voice ordered. "I know you're mad, but you're not even going to be able to go anywhere in this state. Sit and rest." Unable to do much of anything else, Phillip relented, resting his aching head on the pole. He couldn't very well shun P.T. and accept his and the rest of the circus' help at the same time, so he settled for glaring at whatever was the unfortunate target of his unfocused eyes.

He heard many sets of footsteps heading his way – apparently the _entire circus_ felt it necessary to follow him over. He felt fingers prodding at his head, and a distant voice saying,

"Where does it hurt?" Lifting a hand from his support, Phillip showed her the bump on the back of his head, and heard her click her tongue and say, "Your hair is caked with blood." He hadn't even noticed the bleeding.

"He needs to lie down. He's in a bad state." A different voice said, and an arm wrapped around his back, lifting him to his feet. Automatically, he opened his eyes, planting his feet, but the world still swayed in front of him and he closed them again. "Barnum, help me." Another arm wrapped around him from the other side, but he jerked away stubbornly. Head injury or not, he was determined to stay mad at him.

"Phillip, I'm sorry." P.T. tried to apologize. "They had a right to know." Phillip wanted to argue, but he was too tired. W.D. started to drag him down the aisle again, and he tried to walk, but he couldn't keep his balance well enough to be much of a help. After a few minutes of listening to the murmuring voices in the background, he found himself being lowered down onto a bench, something soft stuck under his head – the blanket, maybe. He heard voices, in fairly urgent tones, but never could make out what they were saying before he passed out.

Well, he never really fell unconscious, so 'passed out' was the wrong term. The world became a haze, and he heard nothing but fuzzy snatches of conversation for a long time. Occasionally, his head would flare with pain, but mostly all he felt was exhaustion.

Finally, he managed to wake up from his half-asleep state, and he opened his eyes a slit to see considerably fewer people gathered around him – Anne, Lettie, W.D., P.T., and just a couple of the dancers and one of the lion tamers. They looked relieved when he opened his eyes, and he became aware of something tight wrapped around his head.

"What happened?" He tried to ask, but his words came out slurred and barely recognizable.

"We tried our best to get you patched up, and the others are going to get a doctor." Anne replied, setting her hand on his arm. "We're afraid you have a concussion. How do you feel?"

"Exhausted. My head hurts." He closed his eyes again, wishing his head didn't hurt too much for him to get to sleep. "I just… want to sleep."

"Alright, you just rest, darling." Lettie's voice. "We'll leave you be." He heard more voices after that, but they were so muted that he couldn't make out the words.

Eventually, the voices faded away, but he still couldn't get to sleep. Curse this hard bench. And it wasn't as if he could move, even the slightest shift in position sent pain stabbing through his head. So, he just lay there, suffering.

After about ten minutes of this, Phillip was seriously considering trying to call the others back. There had to be some way to relieve this pain. Not to mention the cold. As he debated how far his weak voice would carry, however, a voice only a couple feet away made him jump.

"Phillip?" Followed quickly by "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Phineas' voice. Even though he was insistent in staying mad at him, Phillip couldn't deny that he was glad he was still here. That he hadn't left.

"'S… okay." He whispered. His voice was far too weak to have called them back anyway.

"How are you feeling? Any better?"

"Worse."

"Oh. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, I don't… just… don't leave."

"Alright." There was a few seconds of silence. "I'm sorry for telling everyone."

"It's… fine. I forgive you." Phillip twisted his head just a bit to face him. "I'm sorry… for reacting so badly. W.D. was right, I was very fortunate that you were with me. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing." P.T. waved him off. "And I can't blame you. You were hurt and upset already."

"Hmm." He didn't really have an answer for that. P.T. was quiet for a few moments, then spoke again.

"Can you not sleep?"

"Not at all. This bench is horribly uncomfortable, and it's cold."

"Oh." A paused. "I'm sorry, but I've been ordered not to move you by people who likely know better than me."

"That's… that's best anyway, my head hurts terribly."

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't apologize, there's already plenty enough blame to go around." P.T. chuckled.

"Alright." More silence. Finally, he heard,

"Here." And something soft and warm was draped over him. Phillip blinked his eyes open in surprise to see the older man's red-and-gold embroidered coat laid on top of him.

"Thank you." Phillip actually managed to smile, shifting a bit to lie on his side and closing his eyes again. A moment later, they popped open again. "Won't you get cold?" P.T. just stared at him for a moment, as if the idea of 'cold' was foreign to him, before shrugging.

"I don't have a serious head injury. I figure I'd better keep you alive until the doctor arrives, hmm?"

"I guess." Phillip let his eyes fall shut, smiling. He was significantly more comfortable now, and just the act of P.T. giving him his coat made him feel that much better. Exhaling, the ringmaster rested his cheek on the blanket under his head, and started to drift off. Before he fell asleep, he dimly felt the bench shift underneath him, under the weight of another body.

This was how the others found them when they got back half an hour later, Phineas sitting on the wooden bench, asleep, one hand on Phillip's head as the younger man slept next to him, using his coat as a blanket.

* * *

 **Me: Is P.T. Extra enough to wear his ringmaster coat everywhere he goes**

 **Me, 0.5 seconds later: what am I saying of course he is**

 **Can't guarantee there will be more updates, since as of now I have no more ideas, but if anyone has any more just throw them at me :'D**

 **~FFF**


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